[It makes a devastating amount of sense, even as it rearranges everything he thought he'd so-cleverly reasoned out for himself, leaves it all shattered.

An ugly, unstable feeling, like sand shifting beneath his feet--but not so preoccupying that he misses the next Thranduil has to say.]

Andraste's ashes-- [Only a copy.] So you've not been stolen; it's--worse than that.

[Or so it seems to him, trying on the idea of himself as not being fundamentally real, not being the one who lived the memories of all he was.

How awful; how corrosive.]

But you're--reflections true as the Fade could make you-- You've all your memories and dreams, everything that makes you real to us. Everything you've given us is real, everything about you worth caring about-- That's all real.